The body of six-year-old Palestinian girl Hind Rajab has been found decomposing in the car where her family were killed by Israeli gunfire in Gaza City.
A few metres away, the ambulance sent to rescue Hind was burnt out with the remains of two medics inside ⤵️
This is Yisachar Holtzman.
He slashed the tires of the CNN car, smashed our windshield and threw a rock at our car. He is a "professional" settler, previously residing in a terror outpost near Hebron; now near Sinjil.
Make him famous.
My out of office message:
The past two years have been marked by an accumulation of losses. Loved ones. Colleagues. Friends. People deliberately targeted and killed by the Israeli army. I learned that grief does not arrive as a sequence of discrete events; it accrues. It settles into my body until I start to wonder not only what has been lost, but what remains.
There are moments when I suspect I have lost some part of my own humanity simply by witnessing so much death. I have watched people die in front of me in ways that resist description. I have lived inside a genocide as it unfolded, and I have watched another continue in Gaza, mediated through the relentless images on a tiny screen in my pocket that refuses to yield. The 24 hour image has dissolved the boundary between proximity and spectatorship. We can leave the scene, but the scene does not leave us.
Some images insist on permanence. On more than one occasion, I have watched paramedics carry bags containing the dismembered remains of children. There are sights that do not become memories because they never cease to be present. They have reorganized my inner life.
How much grief can a human being contain before it alters the architecture of the self?
I have been chased by a Merkava tank. A grenade has been thrown at me. Israeli quadcopters have circled overhead as instruments of intimidation. Sound bombs have become part of the atmosphere. Israeli snipers have opened fire on me eight times, most recently last Monday, while a group of us filmed the demolition of homes in Haddatha. Survival, repeated often enough stops feeling like triumph and just, almost mundanely, becomes another condition of witnessing.
This week brought another loss, one I had neither anticipated nor prepared myself to absorb. Its force has surprised me. Maybe grief does not become easier through repetition. Maybe each loss discovers a new vulnerability. For the next few days, I will step away from the field. Not because the work has become less necessary, but because mourning, too, demands its own uncompromising attention. My heart is in pieces.
آخر سنتين من حياتي كانوا تراكم مستمر للخسارات. أحبّة. زملاء. أصحاب. ناس انقصفوا وانقتلوا عن قصد على إيد الجيش الإسرائيلي. تعلّمت إنو الحزن ما بيجي كحادثة وحدة بتنتهي. بيتراكم. بيسكن بالجسد، لدرجة إنك بتبلّش تتساءل مش بس شو اللي خسرته، بل شو اللي بعده باقي منك.
في لحظات بحسّ إنّي خسرت جزء من إنسانيتي، بس لأنّي شهدت كل هالقدر من الموت. شفت ناس يموتوا قدّامي بطرق ما بتوصفها الكلمات. عشت على مقربة من إبادة جماعية وهي عم تصير، وشفت إبادة تانية مستمرّة بغزة، منقولة إليّ عبر شاشة ما بتطفي، شاشة ما بتترك مجال لوهم إنو في مسافة بتحميك. الصورة المستمرة على مدار أربع وعشرين ساعة ألغت الفرق بين إنك تكون قريب من الحدث أو مجرد متفرّج عليه. فيك تترك المكان، بس المكان ما بيتركك.
في صور بتفرض حالها إلى الأبد. أكتر من مرة شفت مسعفين حاملين أكياس فيها أشلاء أطفال. في مشاهد ما بتتحوّل إلى ذكريات، لأنّها ما بتغيب أصلًا. بتضلّ حاضرة، وبتعيد ترتيب العالم اللي جوّاتك.
قدّيش في إنسان يتحمّل حزن قبل ما يغيّر الحزن شكل روحه؟
ركضت قدّام دبابة ميركافا وهي عم تلاحقني. انرمت عليّ قنبلة. طائرات الكوادكوبتر الإسرائيلية ظلّت تحوم فوق راسي كوسيلة ترهيب. القنابل الصوتية صارت جزء من الهواء اللي منتنفّسه. والقنّاصة الإسرائيليون أطلقوا النار عليّ ثماني مرات، آخرها الاثنين الماضي، بينما كنّا مجموعة منّا عم نصوّر هدم البيوت بحَدّاثا. لما البقاء على قيد الحياة بيتكرّر مرارًا، ما بعود يُشبه الانتصار. بيصير مجرد شرط إضافي من شروط الشهادة على ما يجري.
وهالأسبوع حمل خسارة جديدة، خسارة ما كنت متوقّعها، ولا كنت مهيّأ استوعبها. وقعها عليّ كان أقسى ممّا تصوّرت. يمكن الحزن ما بيصير أخفّ مع التكرار. ويمكن كل خسارة بتكتشف نقطة ضعف جديدة فينا. لهيك رح ابتعد عن الميدان كم يوم، مش لأنّ الشغل صار أقلّ ضرورة، بل لأنّ الحداد، هو كمان، بيطالب بحقه الكامل، ومن دون أي مساومة.
@cbonneauimages Look after yourself Courtney 🫂
You are an unbelievable person.
I hope you know how much we really appreciate you.
Take some time with the dogs
Love Markie ❤️
A few videos of last night’s attack, when violent settlers invaded umm al-khair to plant Israeli flags and try to steal another tract of land. Take note of all the cheap shots. Throwing a tiny female activist to the ground. Knees to the groin. Kicking someone while hiding behind a friend. Taking a shot at my throat. And then scampering to the IDF when they arrived to cry victim. To be clear — the Palestinians and their allies did not ask for this confrontation, and did not throw a single punch back, which would have resulted in an immediate arrest if not murder. All they want is to be left alone in their tiny peaceful village.